That Band Jumped Out The Window

[dc]W[/dc]hat would happen if Cloud Cult – the band responsible for two of this young decade’s to-date five best albums (one blogger’s opinion, to be taken or left as the reader sees fit); and whose live shows have been steadily improving year upon year to the point that they now rival the almighty Wilco’s for their dramatic and delirious admixture of head-bang-inducing caterwaul and could-hear-a-pin-drop quietude (while packing an even greater emotional wallop than do that latters’) – what would happen if this band were invited to come to Seattle and perform three (count ‘em!) shows in three days, including its first-ever all-acoustic sets; the latter two shows to be performed inside the recently-renovated Lodge (a location which would reveal itself to be one of the city’s best-kept secrets and a concert-promoter’s dream, even despite its seventy-two person capacity and remote location) at the only campground inside the city limits?†

While one supposes that what would happen is that homeboy would begin speaking in tongues; it would after all only be fair to put to the test this most reasonable of hypotheses. And so, Friday evening. The second in KEXP’s and Seattle Center’s annual series of concerts at the Mural Amphitheatre.

Chastity Belt, whose praises are recently being loudly sung by all and sundry, kicked it off. The band didn’t, alas, live up to its euphoric notices. The newly re-jigged Deep Sea Diver, however, nearly stole the show with its loud-and-tasty rock-roll roar, powerfully charismatic drumming, and all-around good humour.

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Perhaps if only simply to prove that not even this weekend could be perfect, Cloud Cult’s set was, compared to the band’s theater- and club-venue shows, fairly underwhelming. Granted, those are enormous shoes to fill. But clocking in at only about two-thirds the length of a typical set, as it did; and lacking the dramatic potential of a darkened, stage-lit room with a supremely amped-up sound system; the Amphitheatre’s set was decidedly hamstrung.

Which is not to say that the band didn’t come ready to play its dimpled ass off, nor that it wasn’t any fun seeing it nestled underneath the Space Needle, nor that there weren’t spine-tingling moments aplenty…

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…Because, surely, it did, it was, and there were. A couple of cases in point, erstwhile setlist faves “Blessings” and “Everybody Here Is A Cloud”.

[dc]F[/dc]ollowing Friday night’s surprise, well, cloudburst, Saturday dawned warm and dry, and the much-anticipated Arts In Nature Festival was finally in session.

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Given the Festival’s rustic setting, it’s probably appropriate that arriving to West Seattle via public transit is rather an expedition. But, damn, for a neighbourhood that, mapside, appears in such tantalisingly close proximity, it takes an ass long time to get to. Which is another way of saying Chris Ballew’s Festival-opening Caspar Babypants set was just a little too early for some peeps to consider it the primest of times.

Saturday’s other offerings ‘round and about the Campground were fairly on the slight side; although the Rain City String Quartet, and Jazz/Swing combo Swingamathing turned in quite nice sets inside the Lodge’s wonderfully airy gathering space. Also, some Hippie ChicksTM did a, like, Forest Nymph routine which brought the house down. I dunno…not my cup of tea.

All the while, Cloud Cult had been slaving it away in the downstairs Activity Room, hammering out their chosen songs’ new arrangements. Now, as they hauled in their gear, got set up, and began practicing still some more; the line outside began growing, along with the anticipation. With still an hour to go before showtime, there were more people in line that the room could hold, so an additional loudspeaker was set up outside, and those left out encouraged to gather ‘round and watch through the windows.

The evening sunlight streaming through as the band began to play not only added a Summer-in-Seattle touch, but it also imparted to the outdoor onlookers something of a surreal, ghostly appearance.

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Considering the band’s history, this was maybe not so surprising. In 2002, bandleader Craig Minowa and his wife Connie (herself one of the band’s two live-performance painters) lost, from an unknown cause, their two-year-old son in his sleep. From this deep well of grief and despair Minowa has pulled one of the more memorable and purposeful songwriting canons in recent memory.

In this context, his lyrics are both absolutely heartbreaking…

And when the angels come
They’ll cut you down the middle
To see if you’re still there
To see if you’re still there

And underneath your ribs
They’ll find a heart-shaped locket,
An old photograph
Of you in Daddy’s arms

…and utterly redemptive…

And then they’ll sew you closed
And give you back to the water
From where we’re all born
From where we’re all born

And you’ll feed the ghosts
And you’ll feed the living
You will be a stranger
And you’ll be a friend

…while his songs’ exhortations to, given the transience of the lives we possess, fully live each moment are to say the least captivating, searing, and inspirational.

And if that makes it sound a little too much like being in Church, well, the parishioners were here to have fun, after all. And while that they most certainly were doing, the band may have been having even more.

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The arrangements were (predictably) magisterial, the room’s acoustics were (surprisingly) terrific, and the setlist was impeccably curated. In other words, we had liftoff.

The evening’s entertainments wrapped up with some nice, down-home fire-eating.

Why did she do that?

Little Boy In The Audience: Daddy, why did she do that?
His Father: I don’t know…I do not know why she did that.
Me: [Laughing.]

[dc]S[/dc]unday’s lineup was more fully fleshed than had been Saturday’s; Ranger & The Re-Arrangers and Monarch Duo getting the ball rolling by opening up some whup-ass over two lights-out sets of Gypsy Jazz goodness.

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Time, now, for one more blessed dose of the Cloud Cult Experience. If Saturday night’s show hadn’t been a one-of-a-kind performance, it may have been half of a two-of-a-kind. The Dress Rehearsal half, it turns out, as KEXP filmed Sunday’s set — which was identical to Saturday’s, right down to the anticipatory buildup, and the too-late-arrivers claiming their spots outside the windows.

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Though the early-afternoon light didn’t bring the aura that the previous evening’s had done, the energy in the room was somehow even greater (and the band’s performance possibly a little tiny bit better). Transcendental, baby.

As we all knew it would do, soon too soon, reality knocked us upside our puny li’l heads and sent us tumbling down onto our dimpled asses. Though the event far exceeded its lofty expectations, it couldn’t turn back time. The latter, it ran out; and the show, it did, very sadly, come to its end.

After taking a triumphant bow…

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…the band did something it hadn’t done Saturday evening; to wit…

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Vanished like Keyser Soze, leaving only a completed painting to remember ’em by…

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A completed painting, and scores of now-torn fans: elated at having been privileged to take part in this unique experience…but now cruelly left without a coming Cloud Cult show to which to look forward.

In re the former, by the way, the band elected to break from its usual protocol of selling to the highest bidder immediately post-show; and instead conduct an online auction, the winning bid to be donated to Festival-hosts the Nature Consortium and to KEXP’s Building Fund.

Sad as it was, Cloud Cult’s departure did not spell the end of the Festival. There was still the matter, down in The Meadow, of a Big Sprawling Group O’ Hippies, calling theyselves the “Illuminatio Project”, putting on a performance piece (apparently the second in a trilogy) about…

Well, near as could be by yours-truly sussed, it was about: Worker Drones dutifully doing their 24/7 Taylorite thang…

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…until one sheep strays a little too far from the flock and encounters a raving madman from out Society’s furthest fringes…

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…whom for her lays bare the horrifically soulless ismism of carrying water for The Man. Having seen the light…

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…she endeavours to unmask State, Corporation, and Everything.

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But then Darth Reaperette shows up, bitch-slaps her to the ground…

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…restores order, and makes the trains again run on time.  The End.

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It’s 2112, basically – although the costumes aren’t quite as cool.

Next, the Nu Klezmer Army lit up The Pond real good one.

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One may not’ve considered this venue’s woodland setting to be the best of fits for the raucous energy brought by that crazy Klezmer beat. But the band managed to be at once restrained and irrepressible; and with some truly excellent fiddle-playing, to boot.  (A theme for the weekend, in point of fact: Rain City, Ranger, Nu Klez Army, the soon-to-be-mentioned Ama trio, Swingamathing, and of course Cloud Cult itself all feature some seriously knockout Fiddle Action.)

Back up to The Lodge, the recently-foreshadowed Ama trio delivered an oft-spectacular gulpful of Indigeno-Gypsy Central- and South-American Folk (or what) serving as a perfect conclusion to a magnificent event. Awesome Vocals, Violinism, Dancing, Percussion, Accordion… Need anything else? Really? You need a fucking Harp Wizzard to come shred your dimpled asses up for you? Done, bitches. Harp Shreddist in the god damn house, y’all.

And that was that. Super-huge thanks to Cloud Cult, the performers and volunteers, and especially to the Nature Consortium and Executive Director Nancy Whitlock for their wondrous hospitality. “Blessings”, indeed.

My photos from the weekend can be learnt here, while my photos from the Mural can be learnt here. That was a lot of fun!

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† Also, what would happen if some stupid asshole were to begin a blog post with a more-pretentious-than-thou one-hundred-forty-six-word sentence? Hopefully we’ll never find out…

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Up On Old Butte Hill

[dc]E[/dc]very time I roll into Butte, Mark Ross’ eponymous 1992 long-player – one of the finer Agit-Folk albums upon which you’ll ever lay your ears – lodges itself into my noggin’; and there it remains ensconced for the duration of the visit. It’s perhaps fitting, then, that the Montana Folk Festival, now having completed its sixth iteration, has become my concert-going highlight of the year.

I sang its praises twice before (here and here), but it seems to just keep getting better. It can’t, of course, match the breadth of Folklife’s four full days of musical mayhem; but the spine-tingling moments now arrive with such plenitude to have the former out in front, by a nose or two, of the latter.

From the ear-splitting roars greeting Bernard Allison’s Fest-opening guitar pyrotechnics; to the Global Dance Party erupting at the conclusion of Granite Street’s penultimate set, from Ethiopian phenomenon Fendika; and so many in-between; the audience/performer feedback loop drove the energy again and again to dizzying heights. Maybe there’s something to it: that Montana mountain air to which the artists throughout the weekend made reference.

Over at the Flickr page, hundreds of photos are ready and waiting to be viewed. But in addition to the usual photo and audio documentation, took a goodly quantity of footage this year; which we’ll gather up here, to keep everything neat and tidy. Here’s to it. (Hint: the

First up, closing out the Dance Pavilion Friday night; a live experience as thrilling as any in recent memory, from the eleven-piece Boston-based Ethiopian Funk outfit Debo Band.

Saturday began where Friday left off.  After boggling at the beautiful costumery adorning the Git Hoan dancers…

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…it was right back to the Dance Pavilion, for the high-powered Polka-slash-gymnastics stylings of The Polka Towners. There is no chance whatever of watching this clip without a mile-wide grin erupting across one’s face.

More subdued, but no less entrancing, were the stunning sounds threwn out of Wang Li’s mouth harp. How the Hell does he do this?

After a fine Irish set, and some more wonderful costumes, this time Tibetan…

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…it was time to head back to the Dance Pavilion for a second Ethiopian smash-’em-up throw-’em-down.

Holy crap!, what a great band.

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Saturday’s set even included a guest appearance by what may have been the entirety of Butte’s Ethiopian community.

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Still at the Dance Pavilion, The Mamou Playboys’ propulsive Cajun sounds couldn’t quite keep pace with what had come before – but was also a very long way from being a slouch. Closing out Saturday’s festivities, Grupo Fantasma could keep pace.

Starting at a high level, and ramping up from there, this remarkable Salsa band (with an absolutely shredding guitarist) doesn’t take a back seat to anybody. By the time vocalist “Kino” Esparza pulled an audience-member up on stage to dance with him, there was no turning back. A line of not only girls, but men and children as well, then proceeded to invite themselves on stage to shake their booties in front of god and everybody.

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Didn’t take any vids, alas, in fear that it would be too hot for the camera’s mic to handle. Just gotta experience it for yourself. Saturday night at the Dance Pavilion is always a wing-ding-and-a-half.

The Vietnamese husband-and-wife team opening up Sunday at the Broadway stage were a bit uneven, truth be told. But the good bits were very good.

New Orleans Piano master Henry Butler got the Mainstage crowd singing along…

…though down at Granite Street, it was all it could do to even breathe, such was the heart-stopping power of Nathalie Pires’ incredible pipes.

And then, finally, the other Ethiopian act, Fendika, matched their Debo Band cousins (one of whom sat in on violin) thrill for thrill. Cinch your jaw up tight, and dive in…

Following that up, anything was going to be anti-climactic.  And the Marshall Ford Swing Band’s Festival-closing set was. But even then, these cats – in their sixth set of the weekend — played their dimpled asses off.

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Thank you yet again, Butte. The World is heading down the shitter faster than a speeding bullet. But, just maybe, so long as we’ve got music, there could be some hope for humanity.

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[dc]S[/dc]o depressing was the Festival’s conclusion, that yours truly couldn’t even get excited for the traditional post-Fest visit to the Yellowstone; instead preferring to stay right there in Butte, for more music.

But even despite one day’s having been marred by cold and rain, Yellowstone never fails to jolt. Soon enough, the Festival would be a mere memory (sort of); and it would be more time to spend taking in the Park’s sublime wonders for which I would now pine, having returned all-too-soon back to Seattle’s by-comparison humdrum offerings.

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How many gajillions of Yellowstone pictures inhabit Flickr’s collective photosphere? Don’t know! But I’ve duly added a few more to the digital heap.

When you think about it, given the existence of the Yellowstone River, what need is there, really, of ever watching movies? This is all the god damn drama one could ever, ever want.

Posted in Music, Road Trippin' | 1 Comment

Rocky MMXII

Barack Obama is a War Criminal. In the real world, War Criminals are awarded the Death Sentence. But we don’t live in the real world; we live in fucking Fantasyland, where they’re awarded the Nobel Peace Prize instead.

And let’s have no apologetic bleats to the effect that Obama — having inherited the Bushwars, and made good on his promise to exit Iraq — deserves a free pass here. While it’s surely the case that the Monroe Doctrine wasn’t promulgated by Obama, nor was it under his watch that its purview was expanded to include the entirety of the globe; the zeal with which he has propagated the “White Man’s Burden” (while certainly not history’s first Uncle Tom, Obama may be its most notable) could almost be considered shocking…if it hadn’t been so utterly predictable.

Had he wished to prevent this particular achievement from making its way to his CV, he needed only have, upon taking office, expedited the following:

  • Immediate, unconditional, complete withdrawal from Iraq and Afghanistan; followed by the paying of reparations, and the cleaning up (if it’s even possible) of the Depleted Uranium particles we’ve left blowing in the wind.

Of course, this would still have marked him as the leading Terrorist Mastermind of the last four years, had he not in addition:

  • Repatriated all American military units stationed on foreign soil (yes, sorry, this includes the fucking drones); and closed down Guantanamo, Bagram, and all other military “detention centers” – both those known to, and those kept hidden from, the public.
  • Ceased providing armaments and training to repressive, tyrannical regimes (or better still, ceased the arms trade altogether).
  • Discontinued all aid to, and UN blocking on behalf of, Israel.
  • Shut down the IMF and World Bank. Arguably, these might not be considered quote-unquote Terrorist organisations. But given that the global economy (directed by the U.S. of A. to the degree that it’s known as the “Washington Consensus”) is largely responsible for the deaths by malnutrition and hunger-related disease of 30,000 children per day, whether strictly speaking “violence” or no, the overtly political and mercilessly sadistic charge to, “Make the economy scream,” is tantamount to the same.

And, no: to demand this comportment of an American President isn’t just some pie-in-the-sky bleeding-heart hippie babble. This is a fundamental standard of human decency – a standard to which we hold all other international actors. (Well, except for those willing to join us in “coalition” as we carpet-bomb yet another defenseless people, and any tin-pot dictators whom are at a given moment in our employ…)

Instead, of course, Barack Obama has, e.g.: retained Dubya’s Secretary of War, expanded the war in Afghanistan, greatly expanded the global assassination-by-drone campaign, left a massive Middle East deployment trailing in the wake of the ever-so-reluctant withdrawal from Iraq (essentially, the withdrawal was a product of U.S. fecklessness), bombed the shit out of Libya (while rattling, louder and ever louder, sabres at Iran and Syria), and maintained the Bush-era torture-first-then-ask-no-questions policy in re so-called “illegal combatants” (in fact, it’s entirely legal for citizens to use any means at their disposal” to resist military occupation).

He has furthermore accelerated to a dizzying pace the Bush Administration’s rollback of Civil Liberties at home – including having  seized from the judiciary the authority to convict and punish without trial (i.e., murder) any American citizen unilaterally deemed a “terrorist” and having mercilessly tortured one of the few insiders principled enough to have blown the whistle on our abominable crimes — and then thrown away the key to his cell (Obama’s crack-down on whistle-blowers has been “unprecedented“). All with a smugly jingoistic front which is stomach-turning to say the least.

Oh, did that say “zeal” up above? Apparently it’s more like “glee” with which Obama personally chooses, during his “Terror Tuesday” meetings, the “suspects” to whom will be administered the New American “Due Process” proceedings:

In interviews with The New York Times, three dozen of his current and former advisers described Mr. Obama’s evolution since taking on the role, without precedent in presidential history, of personally overseeing the shadow war with Al Qaeda.

They describe a paradoxical leader who shunned the legislative deal-making required to close the detention facility at Guantánamo Bay in Cuba, but approves lethal action without hand-wringing. While he was adamant about narrowing the fight and improving relations with the Muslim world, he has followed the metastasizing enemy into new and dangerous lands. When he applies his lawyering skills to counterterrorism, it is usually to enable, not constrain, his ferocious campaign against Al Qaeda — even when it comes to killing an American cleric in Yemen, a decision that Mr. Obama told colleagues was “an easy one”.

And — would you know it? – Obama’s shameful Human Rights depredations will not, in the long term, even be his most ignominious legacy. That particular fillip, it hardly need be stated, will belong to his terrifying and insane ecological brinkmanship. Not, again, that he’s been the first and only Captain of our species’ growth-at-any-cost megalomania. But he’s happened to be at the helm during a time when the bills have begun to accumulate with such rapidity that any and every attempt to sweep them under the rug is simply the most ridiculous of farce.

In the face of (to name a few obvious distractions) a climate trending utterly haywire, the decreasing reliability of food harvests, the rapid depletion of global fish stocks (in September, it was reported that North Sea Cod are almost completely finished), seven thousand temperature records toppled in March of 2012 and the most severe drought in eight hundred years, the ever-growing oceanic “dead zones”, nearly-depleted aquifers, the fastest species die-off in world history, and wildfires gone wild; the President has consistently chosen a course not of ecological reconciliation, but rather the continuation of our full-speed-ahead mad dash across the brink: initiate any war, exploit any resource, destroy any community (human, animal, plant), “remove” any mountain-top; all to squeeze every last drop of the “Black Gold” coursing the veins of our life-giving Big Blue Stone.

Growth is over: the 2005 peak in global oil extraction (World energy consumption per capita has been more less stagnant since 1980) was the end of that game. Though any four-year-old could know that perpetual-motion machines are as grounded in reality as is obeisance to the Santa Claus or the fucking Jehova, some few ostensibly-all-growed-up politicians one could name are yet to have taken the memo.

But, hey wait: what if we could find an as-yet-untapped energy source abundant and concentrated enough to enable us to keep living the DreamTM even after we’d killed off all other forms of life? That’d be fun times, right? Nah, doesn’t work, either: the 1972 Limits To Growth study demonstrated that if energy constraints didn’t bring down Industrial Civilisation, then uncontrollable waste streams would do. Ecosystems are mutual dependencies: without biodiversity, nobody gets out alive.

So growth is over; and fuck’s sake, thank the stars it is over. We didn’t arrive here, this Wile E. Coyote moment, not having perpetrated a coupla thousand years of habitat destruction upon a (presumably) not-exactly-appreciative ecosphere. We arrived here having done:

When Europeans first arrived on the land that would eventually become the United States they found a land truly blessed by the divine. Their accounts speak of an abundance few would recognize today.

On the East Coast, birds, including now-extinct species such as the great auk, could be found in “number so great as to be uncountable”, as one contemporary wrote. Passenger pigeons flew in flocks of billions, darkening the sky for days at a time as they passed overhead. Eskimo curlews, puffins, teals, plovers, and more could be found in numbers genuinely unthinkable today.

And that’s just to speak of the East Coast, and just to speak of birds. Writing from the Pacific Northwest in the 17th century, Nicolas Denys noted that “so large a quantity of salmon enter[ed] the river [that] at night one [was] unable to sleep.” Elsewhere cod were “so thick by the shore that [one] could hardly have been able to row a boat through them.”

In 1620, the crew of the Mayflower noted, “Every day saw whales plying hard by us; of which, in that place, if we had instruments and means to take them we might have made a very rich return.” Tens of millions of buffalo dwelt on all corners of the continent, as did wolves and great cats.

Deforestation of North America from 1620 to 1926.

When you think of the plains and hillsides of Iraq, is the first thing that you think of normally cedar forests so thick that sunlight never touches the ground? That’s how they were.

The first written myth of this culture is Gilgamesh going in and deforesting those hills to make cities. When you think of the Arabian peninsula, is the first thing that you think of oak forest? That’s what it used to be. Let’s move a little bit west, and you get the cedars of Lebanon. They still have one on their flag.

Plato was commenting on how deforestation was destroying the springs and rivers in Greece. […] Greece was heavily forested, Italy was heavily forested, North Africa was heavily forested.

Is this a difficult concept? For some, apparently, it is. Has, for example, Barack Obama ever once addressed the public without promising to return to the country its fucking birthright — its “Golden Age” chicken-in-every-pot/car-in-every-garage “Dream”? Ever once?

Obama’s Industry-friendly responses to  the Deepwater Horizon (don’t read that Rolling Stone piece on a full stomach) and Fukushima Daiichi disasters demonstrated precisely with whom his priorities lie.

But it’s probably not, in the end, even ecological blowback that’ll bring us down; but rather the atom. The possibility of Resource Wars escalating to a full-blown nuclear exchange seems…if not necessarily likely, certainly very far from out-of-the-realm (nor is the possibility of an accidental nuclear war anything like far-fetched). The Obama Administration, rather than scurrying to get the god damned things off-line, is (natch) “overseeing the gargantuan task of modernizing the nuclear arsenal”. Uh, thanks for that.

Should one prefer to lie awake nights, though, Fukushima is the spectre to haunt those sleepless moments. If you thought that Fukushima itself was under control – or even close – have a listen to Helen Caldicott’s recent interview with Arnie Gundersen. It’s decidedly not under control, and the likelihood of its going completely apeshit is not small. Moreover,

[…] the disaster was no surprise given the type of reactors at Fukushima. In fact, nuclear power experts, computer models, and other analyses have consistently shown for decades that a problem in the older boiling-water reactors employed at Fukushima Daiichi would become disastrous because of a flawed safety system that houses the nuclear fuel, known as the Mark I containment. It is “the worst one of all the containments we have” — and in a complete blackout, “you’re going to lose containment”, noted U.S. Nuclear Regulatory Commission (NRC) Deputy Regional Administrator Charles Casto on March 16, 2011; who was in Japan to assist, according to transcripts of internal meetings released by the NRC. “There’s no doubt about it.”

The U.S. has 23 reactors with the same kind of safety systems — and the same risky placement of pools for spent nuclear fuel; namely, alongside the main reactor in the top of the reactor building. Would U.S. reactors perform any better than Japan’s in a crisis?

That’s David Biello, writing in the Scientific American, from March of this year. In one of the pieces linked to, also from the Scientific American, John Matson continued:

“There’s been a lot of debate on this issue,” physicist Edwin Lyman of the Union of Concerned Scientists said last week at a meeting of the American Physical Society in Boston. “In our view, complacency is as prevalent here as it is in Japan.” (Lyman and a colleague recently released a report [pdf] on the U.S. response to the accident.) One major threat to a nuclear plant is a prolonged power outage, or station blackout, like the one at Fukushima, which deprived the reactors of their cooling systems.

U.S. nuclear plants, Lyman said, are not well prepared to handle severe, “beyond design basis” events, such as major natural disasters, multiple system failures, or terrorist attacks. A report last year by the Nuclear Regulatory Commission (NRC), which itself has been criticized for being too lenient with the industry it is supposed to oversee, revealed that many U.S. nuclear plants were vulnerable to extreme emergencies. “Regulators don’t usually impose stringent requirements to deal with these accidents, because they assume that they’re so improbable,” Lyman said. Indeed, the NRC has called the Fukushima crisis “the result of a combination of highly unlikely natural disasters.” That specific combination of mega-earthquake and tsunami, the agency maintains, would be very improbable in the U.S..

“Improbable” as the Obama Administration’s “watchdogs” may think some or  other series of man-made or natural events (NASA has also warned of a “Solar Superstorm”, much like the one that occurred in 1859, frying the grid) may be, they are, clearly, not only possible, but precedented. But though the consequences resulting from such an event couldn’t possibly be more fraught with calamity; any thought of taking pains to assure its avoidance elicits from the Feds only bored ennui.

November 18, 2012 Updates:

  • Don’t look now, but the NRC was in October exposed in hiding from the public its own pessimistic analyses.
  • Arnie Gunderson, in an October 30 podcast, revealed that New Jersey’s Oyster Creek plant suffered an incident during Hurricane Sandy. It was saved from fucking up entirely only by the good fortune of the hurricane’s having arrived during a time of scheduled maintenance.

Worse, they’re only considering so-called “Black Swan” events here: those which are imaginable — perhaps even predictable – but not likely to occur during any given period of time. When, however, we consider not just the possibility of a catastrophic failure of the grid; but the certainty of a systematic failure — owing to infrastructure disrepair, financial breakdowns, and the onrushing scarcity of global energy and water resources — “Too Cheap To Meter” begins looking a lot more like “Too Frightening To Even Contemplate”. And so we don’t.

Nobody, of course, can predict exactly when the grid will finally become too unreliable for us to be able to keep our nuclear waste from going Postal. Dmitry Orlov, in a brilliant blog entry from last Spring, in fact explicitly refused to predict the timing; instead giving readers enough clues to begin to draw our own conclusions.

With regard to the electric grid, the incidence of major power outages has recently been seen doubling every year. Yes, we are committing the inductive fallacy by simply extrapolating this trend into the future, but, given what is at stake, dare we not extrapolate? At the very least, we would need to hear a very good reason why we shouldn’t. The incidence of major power outages can only double so many times before it’s time to start handing out potassium iodide tablets and before wig prices shoot through the roof.

Nicole Foss, meantime — one-half of the team behind The Automatic Earth, a blog whose predictions have for years been coming true almost like clockwork – in late-August took a long, hard look at the recent Indian blackout which affected something like 700 million people. Surveying the electric-generation milieu, and the probable implications, she painted a grim picture of the future of the grid in India — as well as in the Developing and Developed nations at large.

John Michael Greer, in a despatch from March of 2010, took a more sanguine approach, arguing that we’ll in future do what we must to keep truly necessary services running for as long as possible.

The managers of a power grid facing collapse due to a shortage of generation capacity have one obvious alternative to hand: cutting non-essential sectors out of the grid for as long as necessary, so the load on the grid decreases to a level that the available generation capacity can handle. In an emergency, for example, many American suburbs and a large part of the country’s nonagricultural rural land could have electrical service shut off completely, and an even larger portion of both could be put on the kind of intermittent electrical service common in the Third World, without catastrophic results.

Possibly a valid point. If Greer’s right, we’ve probably got more than the decade or so it would take to realise the decommissioning of currently operating nuclear plants and the entombing of the mountains of toxic waste seventy years’ accumulation have wrought. We could try it, and just hope to Hell that disaster doesn’t strike at some time during the process…and that  our climate goose hasn’t already been irretrievably cooked to a crisp.

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If Barack Obama were a real-live living being rather than a golem – if there were any reason to believe that there could be a snowball’s chance of his sitting down in the Oval Office wearing a sweater (or, more appropriately, a fucking breathing apparatus) and revealing his administration’s “plan” (it’s  all about the Plans these days) to divert all resources currently being spent on making war on the planet and its inhabitants into powering down the Homo Colossus (to borrow William Catton’s term) and cleaning up our almost inconceivably problematic messes…

At current consumption levels, humanity has overshot the Earth’s carrying capacity by 50%. This doesn’t account, however, for soil degradation, habitat destruction, resource depletion, waste accumulation, and time-sensitive urgencies. So our situation is much more dire than simply concluding that we could reduce global consumption by 50% (a pipe-dream in its own right) and everything would be hunky-dory.

In other words, if we’re going to stand a chance at pulling our irons out of the fire, it means no more fucking around: no more warships, no more prisons, no more teevee show, no more motor-car, no more advertising, no more meat-eating, no more Hollywood, no more football league, no more Made In Maquiladora plastic gewgaws, no more Mudd Club nor CBGB. We just ain’t got time for that now. It’s all hands on deck, or we’re all going down with the ship.

…If there were any reason to believe the President would draw up such a plan of action, then, sure, go ahead and vote for the miserable son of a bitch.

To repeat: no. Barack Obama didn’t invent Growth!, nor Imperialism, nor Military Keynesianism, nor the Revolving Door, nor Bretton Woods, nor Institutional Racism, nor State Repression. Nor even Property “Rights”. But he’s held their banner high. Not only higher than any Democrat before him has done, in point of fact; but also higher than McCain would have done, or Romney would do.

This last is of course speculation. But it’s based on established reality: the “Best And Brightest” of the Democratic party have in the end been a more effective force for crushing liberty and justice and for destroying ecological communities than have their “Mayberry Machiavellian” counterparts. This is simply the historical record, whatever one wants to make of the party’s feel-your-pain “Hope and Change” promises.

The Republicans love to bluster and fulminate; to fire their six-guns in the air. But talk, however intimidating, is cheap. To really get down to the nitty-gritty of grinding the world underfoot, the Democrats are the tops.

Think, for examples, of Clinton’s Welfare Reform, of NAFTA and GATT, of the Clinton-era explosion in the prison population, and of an environmental record so shameful that the Sierra Club’s David Brower adjudged Clinton’s first four years to have been more damaging than the Reagan and Bush Sr. years combined. Republicans were peeing their pants with envy.

Obama’s landmark achievement in this regard has, of course, been his astonishingly venal health care initiative. But he oughtn’t either be sold short for his truly breathtaking Civil Liberties ravages, nor his expansion of the TARP bailouts. The former head of Israeli Intelligence, additionally, considers Obama “the greatest defender of the Jewish state to ever sit in the Oval Office”; Ehud Barak agrees.

The likelihood is that a McCain/Palin administration would have bumbled and bungled its way through four years in much the same manner as Shrub II’s had done. (And the latter was, after all, the lamest-duck Presidential term since…you tell me?) Romney is already a laughing-stock. If he wins (he won’t), he’ll continue to be a laughing-stock. If we must have a biocidal maniac running the show, may as well at least have the one who’s the bigger dumbfuck, less likely to successfully bring to fruition his nefarious desires.

Look, it just doesn’t matter for whom you vote. They’re completely indistinguishable. From the Gunboat Diplomacy, to the Executive-Branch power-grabbing, to the Prison-Industrial imperatives, to the mega-bailouts and  Corporate Welfare, to the Planetary Russian Roulette.

Chomsky has been fond of opining that Presidential campaigns are all style and no substance:

Elections in the United States are expensive extravaganzas run by the public relations industry. The PR people looked at the polls and picked slogans accordingly.

Did you know Obama won the best campaign of the advertising industry in 2008? It was politicians being marketed as a product, like toothpaste. What does that have to do with democracy?

But it’s literally true as well: one’s Presidential selection is about as important a choice as one’s toothpaste selection. It won’t make one god damned ounce of difference.

So why vote for Rocky Anderson, the Justice Party candidate?

Well, voting can, at the local level, make differences in people’s lives. And so long as one is going to be voting anyway, sure, take a few seconds and vote for Rocky. Dude’s got principles. Or, vote for another third-party candidate of your liking. Or, Hell, vote for Bullwinkle — that’s about the level of seriousness with which issues are dealt in the American polity. Whichever name one marks their X alongside, just remember: that’s the easy part. That’s the part to which should be given about as much consideration as will be the next toothpaste purchase.

After that, well, it’s put up or face up — to the quite real possibility, if we don’t get our collective act together, of extinction. For Barack Obama is a golem.

But here’s where the Occupy movement is misguided: it’s not the 1% of “greedy” motherfuckers whom we ought to find culpable of soiling the nest; but rather the ladies and gentlemen in the mirror. The problem isn’t the bureaucrats — no  matter how wealthy or powerful they may be – piloting the Machine. The problem is the Machine itself.

The Machine (or as Fredy Perlman dubbed it, the Leviathan) feeds insatiably on life; and defecates Bhopal disasters, Interstate Highways, Flavr Savr “Tomatoes”, and Prozac. The machine is all of us – all 100% of us who, by our daily participation in the system, contribute to its Sherman’s March over the face of the planet.

It’s great sport to scapegoat the Plutocracy; but the overwhelming bulk of planet-killing activities are undertaken by us proles going about our daily lives, as good little consumers will. Here as well the Occupiers have it wrong. Austerity isn’t to be protested against; it’s in fact our only hope. We cannot continue to consume beyond our basic survival needs. It was profligacy, after all, sent us tumbling headlong over the cliff — unchecked consumption damned sure won’t see us safely back to the ground far, far below.

Nor shall a Great Savior, after the plebiscitical dust has cleared, ride in and solve for us all of our problems, thereby allowing the hedonistic “Dream” to resume. Contrary to popular opinion, even Saviors must obey the laws of physics. Besides: politicians exist only to serve the State; which, in turn, exists only to serve the Machine.

We could instead get busy and cast off the chains which bind. It’s not as though it were inconceivable.

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The Lattice Of Coincidence

Never know, do you, just what sort of interesting juxtapositions the World’s gonna throw your way during any given moment in time? Case in point:

Walking to the bus to-day, listening to Episode #46 of the Extra-Environmentalist Podcast. I think it’s the best episode so far (always seems to really hit stride in mid- late-summer).

Success for the environmental movement has meant many of its members adopted mainstream values in attempts to sustain the unsustainable. Is sustainability a farce when associated with a way of life that is out of touch with reality? Global droughts, weather catastrophes, and heatwaves are demonstrating the rapidly increasing impact of atmospheric greenhouse gases. With decades of inaction on climate change, are we all climate denialists? Could there be an environmental movement that works to exit the collapsing global system?

In Extra-Environmentalist #46 we speak first with Paul Kingsnorth on why he’s withdrawn from the mainstream environmental movement and its discussions of sustainability. Paul tells us about developing the Dark Mountain Project to help us tell creative stories that embody the new narrative evolving from the end of industrial society. Then, Michael M’Gonigle [55m] joins us to talk about the importance of creating an exit-environmentalism that allows us to leave a global system which is falling apart. Michael describes why liberal environmentalism is no longer useful in creating laws to protect our environment. Finally, John Michael Greer [1h 56m] takes root in a new recurring and irregular segment to talk about denial and his take on the environmental movement. All that and more as our latest episode proves there aren’t limits to growth for XE podcast episode run-times.

You may recall that back in February I blogged about Kingsnorth, recommending his then-recent essay in Orion magazine, and a round-table discussion about the essay and its implications. This discussion is even more vital than the other.

Be sure to listen, by the way, all the way through to the episode-closing sketch. Sometimes these can get pretty tedious; but this one is a riot.

So then, got on the bus and cracked the new Fukuoka book, Sowing Seeds In The Desert, and here, from the Introduction:

[In his early twenties] he developed a serious case of pneumonia, and nearly died. Even after he recovered, he spent long hours wandering in the hills, contemplating the meaning of life and death. After one of these solitary all-night walks, he collapsed near a tree at the top of a bluff overlooking the harbor. He awoke to the cry of a heron, and had a revelation that changed his life forever. As he put it, “In an instant all my doubts and the gloomy mist of my confusion vanished. Everything I had held in firm conviction, upon which I had ordinarily relied, was swept away with the wind… I felt that this was truly heaven on earth, and something one might call ‘True Nature’ was revealed.”

He saw that nature is in balance and perfectly abundant just as it is. People, with their limited understanding, try to improve on nature thinking the result will be better for human beings; but adverse side-effects inevitably appear. Then people take measures to counteract these side-effects, and larger side- effects appear. By now, almost everything humanity is doing is mitigating problems caused by previous misguided actions. […]

When Mr. Fukuoka returned to his family’s farm and began practicing natural agriculture, it was with the goal of demonstrating that his way of thinking could be of great value to society. […]

Natural farming does not use any of the products of modern technology. While still attaining high yields, it creates no pollution, and the soil improves each year. If Mr. Fukuoka was able to get yields comparable to those of the other farmers in Japan — who use all the latest tools of science and technology, create pollution, grow sickly plants, and ruin the soil — then where was the benefit of human understanding and technology? After just twenty-five years, he had proven his point.

 

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The More They Stay The Same

You know those shows where, about half-way through the openers’ set, one finds oneself thinking, “Well, I sure hope ABC Headliner has brought its A-game; else they’s gonna get laughed off the stage!” …And then ABC Headliner comes out and lays such a massive whipping on the llama’s ass that within about fifteen seconds, you remember, “Oh, yeah. That’s who I came here to see, all right!”

Last night’s Bob Mould/Thermals billing was one of these. Hadn’t seen The Thermals live in a good five or six years. Frankly, I’d somehow missed their most recent release, and might’ve even guessed that they’d broken up. But no, they’re still kicking out the jams; in fact, tighter and more rocking than ever. Man, Portland’s music scene is some kind of a something right now, ain’t it?

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As you know, Bob Mould’s got a new album of blistering Rock And/Or Roll; released, coincidentally enough, on the twentieth anniversary of Copper Blue. So, here he is with us again, having put together yet another Punk-Rocking Power Trio, touring the latter album in its entirety.

Mould himself may be showing his years a touch, looking not terribly unlike a Log-Cabin Republican…

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…but, as was to be hoped-for, Jon Wurster murdered the ever-loving fuck out of these songs; proving himself yet again the most captivating performer in all of showbiz.

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Jason Narducy, meantime, refused to be overlooked, pacing the stage like a caged lion, and and at times even seeming to outplay his two legendary colleagues.

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Holy crap did these motherfuckers ever bring the rock! So much so, in fact, that the band’s, well, Raw Power, ended up compromising the songs’ trademark melodicism, while ofttimes burying the vocals altogether.

That’s not a complaint, really: the records will always be the records, and can be consulted at any time. But when Bob Mould puts a crew together and deigns to go out and destroy the eardrums of the world one more time, the one and only conceivable response is: “Yes, sir! No, sir! Thank you very much, sir!” Here’s “Hoover Dam”.

After shredding the daylights out of Copper Blue, the band took a one- or two-minute breather, and tore into a set of songs from the new album. While the new tunes rocked just as hard; this obligatory jaunt did seem a bit like forcing the audience to eat its vegetables before it could have some dessert.

Wouldn’t at all have minded, my own self, had they turned Beaster on its head – its being my favourite Sugar release (and possibly second-fave in Mould’s entire catalog). But, again: Bob had chosen for us our path; we needed only follow.

The audience could not possibly, however, have guessed just what was in store for the dessert course. The set-closing mini-set of Husker Du songs was not surprising in itself. The band’s turning of it up five or six notches for the Husker blowout was not only surprising, but quite astonishing indeed.  While the packed-full audience did its level best to respond in turn — transforming itself into a writhing, leaping, coiling, reveling mass of delirious pandaemonium – it proved impossible to keep up.

Who knew the unbridled fury of the first two sets of music had all been just a little warm-up goof-around session? “Chartered Trips”, in particular, was so molten that even Sleater-Kinney would have been left cowering in its path.

How they did it, I’ll never know. It only matters that they did it.

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As far as the adoring audience had been concerned, the entire proceedings were to be a coronation of the once and future king of American Punk, returning to take his rightful seat on the throne. But – save for a brief allowance that Copper Blue still sounded pretty decent twenty years later — Mould had wanted nothing to do with Pomp and Circumstance.

When they’d finished, though, he stood alone onstage for some moments, basking in the crowd’s truly deafening adulation. He seemed, in point of fact, on the verge of becoming overwhelmed (though it’s difficult to imagine him not having received an even more heartfelt ovation in Minneapolis three nights previous), before finally giving a thumbs up and making his triumphant exit.

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By the way, I recall, some years back, having read an interview in which Mould complained that he’d never wanted to be considered a Gay Spokesman. But, tonight, he even pleaded with the audience to vote Yes on 74.

So there you go: some things do change.

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